Stranded Always
by Psychotic Snake-Woman
Summary: Just a little collection of one shots of pairings not yet seen on under LotF. :Painful Dreams:


**_Lord of the Flies_** ©** William Golding**_

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**Painful Dreams**

_Painful grips on his upper arms sent his nerves ablaze as he thrashed about in an attempt to get away. Red hot electricity made its way up to his brain, a scream built in his throat – but he kept his mouth closed. The teeth used to hold his bottom lip pressed even harder into the flesh, but the pain went unnoticed.The nails digging into his arms dragged their way down from near his shoulder to his elbow, and lower. The skin separated to let the blood out from underneath it and through the gashes the nails were creating. The red liquid seeped into the ground below him, staining it and him alike. _

_His legs thrashed and kicked out at the person above him, pinning him down and harming him, but it was no use as the perpetrator was straddling his waist – not actually sitting on him physically. The mental notion that he was weighed heavily on the thrashing boy's mind, he could literally feel the other one above him sitting on his stomach – pushing down enough to make it hard to even breathe. _

_Harder and harder the boy over him pushed down. He couldn't breathe; it was getting too hard to! His heart raced a fast pace, feeling as though it would burst any second and he would die, a captive under the boy above him. The thrashing boy let his bottom lip go in an attempt to scream – alas no sound came out and a cough took the scream's place. _

_The blood cooled his skin the first time it touched it, but soon the flesh went numb from the lack from it. It dried, darkened, and was covered by more blood pooling from the gashes on his arm. His chest barely was able to rise and fall to get oxygen into his system, but alas a knee grounded onto the cavity that held his lungs and heart. The trapped boy gave a weak cough and up came blood, trickling slowly from the corners of his mouth to his hair underneath his head. _

_The body above him bent down and a pink tongue darted out and took a drop of the blood from his mouth, bringing it back into their mouth. The trapped boy wheezed in pain, brain numbing with the lack of oxygen and growing amount of carbon dioxide, wanting nothing more than to get away from the boy above him. His vision darkened than what it had already been, making the black even more black if that was possible. _

_Eyes peered down at him brightly evil. They reflected his own eyes back at him, reflecting his dimming sight of how utterly pathetic he looked and was acting. It made the pinned boy's soul and spirit take a dangerous plummet to a chilling hatred – both for himself and the boy above him – that just about consumed him, but that was when he could see the color of the irises._

_They weren't the deep brown of the natural island sadist. No, they were a – twisted – delightfully gay and wicked green that could only belong to one person on the island. It frightened the boy under the other one. _

_This wasn't Roger, it was— _

"Maurice!"

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The brown-haired choir boy opened his eyes to see the fair-haired chief kneeling by his side, eyes full of worry. His growing blonde hair had started to fall into his eyes, but he paid them no mind as he worried over one of Jack's hunters. His blonde eyebrow's furrowing in skeptical confusion as he gazed at Maurice's watch eyes – one a bright hazel, the other a soulful brown.

"Are you all right, Maurice?" Ralph pushed his blonde bangs out of his eyes – though that only allowed for them to fall back to where they were. The watch-eyed ex-choir boy opened his mouth, vaguely aware of it trembling as he tried to find his voice. The fair-haired chief sat back on his knees, concern replacing the confusion. Maurice looked into Ralph's eyes and spoke, "I-I… um… uh… I'm f-fine, chi-Ralph."

The skeptical chief gave him a look that said that he might not believe him, but he didn't say that. Ralph licked his lips uneasily and looked to the side of the hut they were in, the noon sun outside beating down hard on the hut and the boys outside. He looked the two color-eyed boy in the eye, attentively biting his bottom lip gingerly. Maurice watched this take place, eyes firmly on the blonde chief's mouth.

"Maurice?"

The boy in question snapped his gaze up to the ocean blue one of the fair-haired chief. Maurice's eyes widened at the sudden close proximity that he had with Ralph who created it. The younger boy – whose age fell in between the littluns and biguns – felt heat and blood rush to his cheeks as his eyes held a sweet confusion for Ralph. A callusing hand brushed the brown-haired ex-choir boy's cheek, enticing more flushing of the younger boy.

The two colored eyes of Maurice widened as he felt Ralph's lips – oh so soft lips – gently brush his after the blonde-haired chief closed the very small distance between their faces. Their lips slanted across each other as Ralph led Maurice into the kiss. The younger boy's head tipped upwards, giving the older boy more access to his mouth – letting the blonde dominate.

The boy – whose age was in between the littluns and biguns – allowed his eyes to close as the feeling of Ralph straddling his waist over took him. His calloused hands rested on the broad shoulders of the older boy. _His legs thrashed and kicked out at the person above him, pinning him down and harming him, but it was no use as the perpetrator was straddling his waist – not actually sitting on him physically. _

Maurice's eyes snapped open at the quick notion from his too fresh dream – always to haunt him now as Ralph unconsciously brought back reminders of the green-eyed boy in his dream. The same boy who hurt him, made him bleed, refused to let him breathe sweet air so he could function right. His eyes didn't see the green-eyed boy's eyes looking at him; merely Ralph's closed eyes – blonde lashes resting so beautifully on his upper cheeks.

Ralph opened his eyes halfway to gaze into Maurice's open ones – curious as to why he wasn't responding as much as he had been. The blonde broke the kiss with a small wet sound and he let his tongue come out and lick the corner of the brown-haired boy's lips. A small gasp left Maurice's lips as his eyes fogged over a bit – _The body above him bent down and a pink tongue darted out and took a drop of the blood from his mouth, bringing it back into their mouth. _

The brunette jerked away from Ralph, "No…"

Ralph looked startled at what the younger boy had said; the only thing Ralph had really done was kiss the boy beneath him in the sand, though he refused to actually sit on the boy's stomach. The fair-haired boy went to place his slightly calloused hand on Maurice's cheek, but the boy pushed it away. _The mental notion that he was weighed heavily on the thrashing boy's mind, he could literally feel the other one above him sitting on his stomach – pushing down enough to make it hard to even breathe._

The brunette clenched his eyes closed as his dream started to resurface again despite how short ago it had been. He turned to his side and curled up into a ball, Ralph getting off of him as the brown-haired ex-choir boy held his head in his grip – fingers gripping and pulling, tugging restlessly at the brown locks. _His vision darkened than what it had already been, making the black even more black if that was possible._

The slightly calloused hand on his upper arm barely registered itself to his mind, instead opting to keep his nightmare – it didn't classify as just a dream anymore – at bay any way that he could. The tips of the fingernails rested feather-like as the owner of them watched the boy on the white sand in the hut. The others were too busy having fun to worry about what was going on inside. _Painful grips on his upper arms sent his nerves ablaze as he thrashed about in an attempt to get away._

Maurice's eyes shot open at the feeling of fingernails on his upper arm – no this couldn't be true! It couldn't be! No... – he turned to look over his shoulder at the face of the owner of the nails, meeting the green-eyes of a fellow ex-choir boy. The nails dug into his arms – _The skin separated to let the blood out from underneath it and through the gashes the nails were creating._ He didn't want this to happen! _The red liquid seeped into the ground below him, staining it and him alike._

_The blood cooled his skin the first time it touched it, but soon the flesh went numb from the lack from it. _

_Red hot electricity made its way up to his brain, a scream built in his throat – but he kept his mouth closed. The teeth used to hold his bottom lip pressed even harder into the flesh, but the pain went unnoticed._

_Eyes peered down at him brightly evil._

_This wasn't Roger, it was—_

_It made the pinned boy's soul and spirit take a dangerous plummet to a chilling hatred – both for himself and the boy above him – that just about consumed him, but that was when he could see the color of the irises._

_No, they were a – twisted – delightfully gay and wicked green that could only belong to one person on the island._

_They weren't the deep brown of the natural island sadist. _

_This wasn't Roger, it was—_

_Harder and harder the boy over him pushed down. He couldn't breathe; it was getting too hard to! _

_The trapped boy gave a weak cough and up came blood, trickling slowly from the corners of his mouth to his hair underneath his head. _

_The blood cooled his skin the first time it touched it, but soon the flesh went numb from the lack from it. It dried, darkened, and was covered by more blood pooling from the gashes on his arm. _

_This wasn't Roger, it was— _

_His chest barely was able to rise and fall to get oxygen into his system, but alas a knee grounded onto the cavity that held his lungs and heart. _

_The utter pain of his dream came back and flooded his being as he shook and gazed up into those green eyes of his tormentor. _

_The thrashing boy let his bottom lip go in an attempt to scream – alas no sound came out and a cough took the scream's place. _

_This wasn't Roger, it was— _

Maurice gave a scream once he uttered a small sound and realized he could use his vocal cords to the fullest extent – to which he did. But it was cut off by the other boy crushing his lips to Maurice's – silencing him and keeping him quiet to what he wanted to do.

_They reflected his own eyes back at him, reflecting his dimming sight of how utterly pathetic he looked and was acting. _

—Simon.

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**End ****or Continue?**


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